


I'm a General. Whee?

by Ellidfics



Series: Captain Fraudulent:  The Outtakes [41]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Acts of Congress, Gen, posthumous promotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics
Summary: Steve thought the sudden bump in his pay was a glitch, at least until he talked to Maria Hill.





	

Maria Hill read over the neatly typed memo that was formatted using a military protocol that had been superseded before her parents had been born. She frowned, brushed a single lock of black hair behind her ear, and looked up at last.

“I’m not sure what this is about, Captain. You are getting your payroll deposited into your bank accounts on time, correct?”

“Well, yes.” Steve caught himself before he mirrored her gesture. The barber at Fort Bragg had all but shaved him bald when he'd gone down for a refresher course in winter combat, and even with the serum he barely had a buzz cut. “That’s not the point. Unless I completely misread the new pay scales, I’m getting a lot more than I should.”

Hill sat back in her chair. “How so?”

Steve leaned forward to point at the second paragraph. “It’s right here. I’m an O-3, company grade. Even with the differential I get for being posted to SHIELD, I shouldn’t make anywhere near this much.”

“You do realize you get a monthly bonus for being a Medal of Honor recipient?” Hill asked. “That’s in addition to hazardous duty pay for heading the Avengers Initiative, a stipend for new uniforms – “

“Tony Stark provides my battle dress, not the government,” Steve interjected.

“ – plus a housing bonus for living in one of the most expensive cities in the country, even though I know you stay at Stark Tower at least a couple of nights a week,” Hill finished as if he’d never said a word. “All of that adds up, Captain.”

“Not that much, ma’am.” Steve reached into one of the belt pouches on the stealth suit and pulled out a piece of paper he’d had JARVIS print out when he’d gotten his bank statement and realized that the balance on his checking account was unnaturally high. “Like I said, I’m an O-3, which means my base pay should be around six grand a month, give or take. The last few deposits have been over twice that. There’s something wrong.”

The only sound was the faint hiss of the heating vent as Hill compared the current Army pay scale to Steve’s memo. She thinned her lips, called up a file on her desktop, and narrowed her eyes. 

“Sorry, but no,” she said at last. “You’re getting the correct amount, down to the penny. Here, take a look.”

She turned the monitor to face him, then came around the desk to point at the appropriate lines. “See? Base pay, Medal of Honor, housing, hazardous – “

“Wait. That base pay isn’t right.” This time Steve did grab for his non-existent forelock. “I’m a captain, not a brigadier general!”

Hill froze in place. “Oh dear,” she said, and for once she sounded genuinely sympathetic, not coolly professional. “You mean no one told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Oh dear,” she repeated, and pulled her keyboard forward so she could type in another file name. “Captain. You aren’t really a captain.”

Steve didn’t realize his jaw had dropped until a waft of cool air began to dry out his tongue. “What?”

Hill pointed at the Wikipedia entry on the screen. “You were listed as MIA, not KIA. I don’t know why, probably Howard Stark – “

“That shouldn’t have bumped me to the general staff!”

“ – but under Army regs, MIA personnel automatically receive any raise in rank or pay they’re entitled to while they’re missing. Privates become sergeants, lieutenants become majors, and – “

“Mother and country, they didn’t. They _didn’t_.” 

“ – in your case, a captain became a brigadier general.” Hill pointed at the section titled **The Captain America Promotion Act of 2005**. “It took an act of Congress to get past certain of the requirements, but President Bush thought a posthumous promotion would be an appropriate way to honor the sixtieth anniversary of your disappearance.”

It wasn’t possible, but there it was, in black and white, complete with a citation from the Congressional Record. Steve shook his head to clear it, just in case he was hallucinating. “I – what?”

“Your call sign is still Captain America – that’s in the statute thanks to someone pointing out that ‘General America’ sounded like a cereal company – “

Steve clapped his hand over his mouth to force back a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle. 

“ – but technically, you’re a one-star.” Hill carefully settled into the other guest chair. “You don’t need to change your mess dress unless you really want to, at least according to Fury. He checked with Legal and they said the promotion was more for show than anything else, which is why it's been forgotten by everyone except the bean counters. You probably should retake your oath, though, just to be on the safe side.”

This time he did giggle, at least until he was able to turn it into a snort. “Retake my oath. Uh huh. Yeah.”

He was a general, at least as far as a president he hadn't even known was concerned. Even though he’d been in the Army less than four years.

“Can – “ He drew a in breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. “I suppose it’s too late to refuse.”

“Not unless you want to get Senator Schumer involved,” said Hill. This time she gave him a comforting pat on the wrist. “He might be able to sweet-talk the Joint Chiefs into reducing you down to Colonel, but that’s about it. It was all about honoring your memory, you know. No one really expected to find you alive.”

“Colonel would be better,” Steve managed. “I outrank Fury. My God.”

Hill hesitated. “That may be why no one told you at first. You were having a hard enough time adjusting as it was.”

Steve hung his head. It had been almost a year since he’d opened his eyes in the “recovery room” here in Manhattan HQ, but the memory of those awful first days hadn’t faded. “No kidding.”

Neither spoke as the seconds ticked off on the little digital clock by her blotter. “Don’t suppose I can give the money back,” Steve said at last. “It doesn’t feel right, drawing that much pay.”

“You could donate what you don’t need to charity.” Hill got up, walked to a filing cabinet, and extracted what looked like a bottle of very, very old whiskey. She poured him a tumbler full, poured herself two fingers’ worth, and clinked her glass against his. “I know you can’t get drunk, but this is the best I can do. Cheers.”

“Thanks.” He took a sip, savoring the burn and the second or two of buzz before the serum kicked in. She had good taste in liquor. “A general. Me.”

“Yep,” said Hill, and tossed back her drink. “You.”


End file.
